HALL MONITOR DISPATCH – EASTSIDE STREAMER HIGH

(The Cafeteria of Broken Promises)

The big double doors of the senior wing slam open like the final scene of every bad teen movie. The fluorescent lights flicker on cue. Enter the flea, self-appointed Queen Bee of the Streamer Clique, bellowing the classic hallway power move:
“Hello, hello, I am here, look at me.”

Every small warrior on their respective benches (the usual lunch-table hierarchy of mods, lurkers, and people who still think this is a real high school) immediately bows.
They echo their hellos like the underclassmen they are, desperate not to get socially iced by the streamer extraordinaire.

“Happy Sunday Spunday,” she cajoled while sauntering down the hall with the grace of a beached walrus.

Her main squeeze, Goober, senior class stoner, permanent hall-pass holder, and professional chair-warmer, wanders up, takes her hand, and slides into position like they’re posing for the yearbook “Most Likely to Get Detained Together” page.
The flea nudges him to say hello to everyone.
Like a stoned ground noodle, he slowly obliges and lets out a lone, slow, methodical “hello.”

She immediately does the classic popular-girl move: makes fun of the way he says hello and pokes at him as if he is just a mere prop in her game of deception and lies.

She drops into her favorite dilapidated chair (the one that still has last year’s gum under it) and starts the roll call, waving at every follower like she’s the new student-body president who won on a platform of “Look at Me.”

When she gets to the ‘Spicy Latina,’ Goober makes a ‘sssss-ing’ sound trying to portray the Warrior as sizzling hot.

Classic.

The flea laughs it off as mere jokes and usual Goober antics, the same way every queen bee pretends her boyfriend isn’t openly rating the junior girls in the cafeteria.

Then it’s time for the weekly drama recap.

Goober pipes in and tells how he got kicked out of church today. The flea, pure theater-kid energy, pipes in:
“You went to church too?”

When prodded, he drops the line that will live forever in the annals of Eastside Streamer High:

He claims he said, “Fluck the devil,” while in church, and it got him booted.

Goober, red-eyed, half-open, claims he turned to the altar and said, “What the fluck, I thought we hated that little flucker…and I was asked to leave.”

The flea pretends her hardest to believe him, then bursts out laughing that faked, canned sound that resembles laughter mixed with a belly full of painful gas.

They both carry on like they just pulled the ultimate senior prank on the entire student body. It falls flat.

Hard.

annoying

She recovers with the classic mean-girl pivot:
“Only you would get kicked out of church, but at least you weren’t in there lying and pretending to be a Christian or anything, you know.”

(Ahh yes, the little dig towards the Germ to start the show. Classic first-period shade.)

blink

Realizing the staged bit died on the cafeteria floor, she goes back to demanding praise for her soulmate.

Goober, higher than a red kite flying over the Villages, tells the joke again but adds that he saw it online recently.

(Sorry, Goober, that joke has been floating around the internet since Al Gore declared the internet open for shenanigans.)

eye roll

Then the flea spins her chair around like she’s about to drop the biggest tea of the semester and hits Goober with:
“What’s the difference between a user and an addict?”

Silence. The kind of silence that happens when the teacher asks a question and the entire back row is still high from the parking lot.
She starts tumbling her words into the floor: “Because people assume because you were gone, and they think they know all the reasons why, and they think that the reason makes you an addict, and they keep calling you a person with an addiction. So, we all know, I’ve been with you for 20 years; you’re not an addict, right?”

(Okay, snap back to reality, folks, no matter what the flea portrays, someone who indulges as Goober does indeed has a substance use disorder. Just because he buys it legally for “medical purposes”, or so he says, this still makes him addicted to his ‘medicine’.
Now, does he sprinkle it with white, powdery fun sometimes?
Well, history tells us he does…so he’s probably considered an addicted fool. But hey, the Flea will spin it so he is innocent, and it was a big fluke that every time he “used,” he got caught. )

unlucky sap

Goober finally gives his analysis. Fleasa, unsurprisingly, claims Goober “wasn’t even knowingly using” when he got tested.

She starts spilling bubble-guts theories about three years of probation and turns to him with pure soap-opera sincerity. “How did that turn you into an addict?”

(Face it, Fatty, what are the odds that every time he got tested and had a positive result, he had been slipped a Mickey?)

1 in 1,000,000

She gathers her composure, swallows a hunk of chicken skin from the local “Lick-My-Chick,” and launches into the “civil felony” spin.

She announces that the whole thing is made up by Germ’s followers and that “Of course a civil felony doesn’t even exist.”

Then she goes full Maury Povich / after-school special. She interviews her half-baked soulmate about his landscaping career (worked every day since he was 14).

She leans in and asks, “And, how old are you now?”

Goober stops, crinkles his white-dusted nose, and answers slowly, “53.”

“Oh, 53.”

She keeps twisting the narrative: hard-working soul, not “thieving from elderly people.”

Next question:
“How many elderly people have you worked with over that many years?”

Goober: “Well, I would say in the last, even just through our marriage, I uh, uh…..”

She reels him back. He delivers:

“I’ve worked for about a thousand people. 2,000 people. 2,000, I don’t know, 2,000. If I did a job a day for 25 years, which is on the low end, whatever, I’m gonna be good at it, but I mean, I have only one; you’re gonna have complaints.”[sic]

(Unfortunately, Goober’s math ain’t mathin’…by his account, he has been working for 39 years, not 25. And if he worked every day as they claim, he would have worked 14,244 jobs, not 2,000. But let’s give him a day off to attend church; that’s still 12,068 workdays.)

blink

They agree that the one complaint is the only one that mattered. Fleasa adds the classic victim-shaming line: “This guy had an agenda.”

“And the agenda was not to lose his home, you know, the HOA trying to get him out. That was his agenda.”

Goober tries: “No, what it was is…”

She cuts him off. He quickly snaps back:
“Let me explain this mother-flucker”

Fleasa adds, “I am just saying.” Then the rapid-fire response begins to slip out
“I’m just, because you know what, we have new people in here all the time, right/ and people don’t hear the story,” [sic]

She pivots hard to Jeremy Hales:

“Now, Jeremy Hale seems to think he was the first person to come out and say anything that happened, because he doesn’t pay attention to my channel, right? So he didn’t know that you already had been on here talking about this ages ago, right? Way before he even knew about it, right? Right? So anybody who thinks they don’t know about it obviously wasn’t listening to my talk.”

Goober drops the full monologue:

“Trust me, if I was running some hurricane scam, that, logically, you would think that, okay, my name’s already been in there. Even the judge, when I went to first appearance, he hasn’t had any claims. He has never been in trouble. He doesn’t get in trouble. So this is—he had a warrant out for five years ago, right? He obviously doesn’t get in trouble. I’ve been out on the roads. I’ve been driving. I’ve been working, interacting with people for all those five years. If I were a scammer and scamming people, I would have already gotten busted again. But within those five years, somebody would have already called again if I was doing that.” [quoted and noted]

Fleasa fires back about the barn/Christmas money and how “this is not your channel.”

Goober: “Yeah, look, I’m gonna tell everybody whatever money. I don’t know how much money Lisa makes. I don’t care. That’s not even a thing. I don’t care. I don’t even want to know what Lisa makes. But it’s really, it’s, I mean, I don’t…”

They start talking over each other like two kids fighting over the last nacho cheese packet.

Goober finally bellows:

“We are both two independent people. I make my own money; she makes her own money.”
The flea: “You have a general idea.” (tiny giggle).

More financial hot-potato:
Fleasa: “The dollar number as far as what comes in, like on my YouTube.”

Goober: “What you make today? What, what you just?”

Flea: “Yeah, like that, like that. We don’t talk like that.” That’s the other thing. We don’t. Our bills come in; we pay our bills.”

Goober: “We put our money, I put my money in the bank and pay, put money for the bills, and that’s it.”

Flea: “But the projects, though, that’s like a separate thing, because those are like technically, well, like events. I work on them. I work an event, right? And he never sees that money.”

Goober: “I don’t see any of that stuff.”

Flea: “Yeah. So he tries to, what he does is, if I do a show, he shows up at the show. He hangs out.”
She turns towards the Goobster and describes what he really is in her eyes. “You become a roadie for a day, right? Right?”

They reminisce about Christmas decorations and Goober playing the Grinch.

Then she snaps back to Germ-ville:

“He just shows up and turns around and tries to put the blame on Goober or anything that has to do with my channel. It’s quite amusing.”

(But face it, she ain’t really amused. Nope, she’s just pretendin’, just like that old possum lying in the road, but instead of playing dead, the flea turns her words into a twisted pile of nonsense.)

blink

She stammers: “I just wanted to ask you, they’re using you to get at me.”

Goober: “Yeah, that’s well, yeah, okay.”

Flea: “And then you have someone like Stupid Dave the other night literally bringing you into the mix because he’s got nothing else to do with that.”

And just like that, the rest of the period is pure cafeteria gossip about Supa Dave and Only Me, three different versions of the same story, each one starring the flea as the heroic hall monitor who left the sickest remarks in the chat.

But alas, I’m out. I have my own court case on Friday against a ‘snarky and mean’ landlord that I finally escaped.

(She withheld my deposit check for way too many days and trumped up some unscrupulous charges to withhold funds.)

Toodles Poodles ♥️🐩
11:43 / 2:23:45

(Wait, what? That was only twelve minutes of listening?)

damn